


Dance With Me

by 17 pansies (17pansies)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Photo prompt, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Skinny!Steve, Tango, boys dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3980578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/17pansies/pseuds/17%20pansies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The music drifts in from the dancehall a block behind them.  Sometimes, they can barely hear it, but on other nights, it's as if the band is playing only for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance With Me

**Author's Note:**

> A little ficlet, prompted by this photo of two men, dancing. [Look at it](https://twitter.com/17pansies/status/601318556840624128/photo/1) and tell me the one on the left isn't pre-serum Steve. 
> 
> For my darlings Anna and Neve, as always.

The music drifts in from the dancehall a block behind them. Sometimes, they can barely hear it, but on other nights, it's as if the band is playing only for them.

Tonight is one of those nights. The air is still, heavy with the thick heat of late summer. Thunderheads have been building out over the water but here in the city, everything is waiting, watching. Even Bucky has trouble breathing in this pea-soup air, so god only knows how Steve is still upright.

But he is, and he's watching from his perch on the windowsill. Their tiny apartment is little more than two long, narrow rooms wedged into the attic space of a building that had gone up before the turn of the century, with a closet-sized bathroom and a corner of the lobby serving as their kitchen. They don't have much, but at times like this, it doesn't matter. If anything, it helps.

"Move the table, Buck," Steve says, and Bucky's heart does this funny hiccup in his chest. Even as it does, though, he's complying, shoving their rickety little table and two stools into the corner, pushing the pair of threadbare armchairs up next to it. Steve slides down from the windowsill, lays his sketchbook and pencil down on the thin cushion that still bears the indentation of his ass. He rolls up the rag rug that Bucky's ma had made for them and puts it on the closest armchair. That's pretty much it for their furniture, if you don't count the skinny little bookcase in the corner, crammed full of battered books with broken spines, bought from the public library sales for hard-earned nickels.

The floor is clear. Bucky slips his socks off and rolls his sleeves up another turn. Steve is already barefoot and as Bucky holds out his hand, Steve steps up into his space, threading their fingers together as the music changes.

"Tango, Buck?" Steve asks, with a barely concealed smirk. 

"Get ready to follow my lead, pal," Bucky replies, trying to ease the tension in the air but it doesn't work. "For once, at least."

They dance.

Bucky is a natural at this, like he is at many things. He's light on his feet and graceful as a cat. Steve has never been called graceful, not even once in his entire life, but that doesn't stop him here. He learned, and learned fast the first time Bucky laughingly pulled him close and went "Let me teach ya how to spin a dame, yeah?"

Steve has never danced with a woman, but with Bucky as his partner, there's never been any need for him to endure that kind of trial. 

"Quit wool gathering," Steve says, probably noticing the way Bucky's eyes have gone soft and unfocussed. "Get out of your head."

"Sorry." Bucky blinks and looks down with smirk. "Am I offending you with my inattention?"

"Shut up and dance." 

And so Bucky dips him, spins him and then pulls him close with one arm, leaving the other hang free, and they move together across the floor as if their tiny apartment were the fanciest of dance halls. Perfectly in step with one another, like they're the only two people in the world.


End file.
